Trompe L'Oeil For Two
by Eloise Lovelace
Summary: Messrs. Moony and Padfoot are far from a still life, even if they're technically dead. RemusxSirius slash.


**Title:** Trompe l'oeil for two   
**Author:** Eloise Lovelace  
**Pairing:** Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, both post-war and canon-compatible through HBP! Also implied Ron/Hermione.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Messrs. Moony and Padfoot are far from a still life, even if they're technically dead.  
**Warnings:** same-sex hanky-panky, overly precious children arising from heterosexual union, humour/fluff. Absolutely no necrophilia, I promise.  
**Length:** 1800 words, or, an Eloise-sized drabble.  
**Disclaimer:** Although Harry Potter himself does not appear in any part of this story, all the characters contained herein are from the Harry Potter series. They are owned by J. K. Rowling, whose seventh book will definitely not be entitled "Sirius Black and the Lusty Lycanthrope Who Loved Him". All characters used without permission and without intent to profit.   
**Author's notes:** This silly little ficlet is my attempt at reconciling Remus/Sirius with OotP without resorting to denial. My thanks to , who is as good a beta reader as she is a wife, and that's saying a great deal!  
**Explanation of the wanky pretentious title:** Trompe l'oeil is a painting technique, literally French for "trick the eye", wherein extreme realism is used to create an optical illusion.

* * *

Signing the last of the documents, the Minister of Magic thrust tired, bestockinged feet on the desk in front of her, and reclined in her chair, massaging her aching temples. She summoned a cup of chamomile tea and set it down on her very pregnant belly.

It had taken an infernally long time, but finally, she'd approved the commission to Dean Thomas to complete a gallery of war hero portraits.

Stupid bureaucracy... it was now just days before the twentieth anniversary of the victory against Voldemort, but fortunately she hadn't waited for approval and had convinced her former classmate to paint the portraits anyway, promising that the funding would eventually come through.

And now it had, and Hermione could _finally_ get home to Ron and the kids.

Hermione cut the ribbon to applause and cheering, and ushered her family into the newly opened gallery. The crowd slowly filed behind them into the site of the final battle, the now-rebuilt Great Hall of Hogwarts.

The Minister of Magic smiled fondly at her family, all four children neatly attired and Ron extremely exhausted from the process of neatly attiring all four children. Looking at them now, on their best behaviour as a result of multiple bribes and threats, one wouldn't guess they were such hellions, being both extremely smart and excessively fond of breaking rules.

Ron couldn't wait until the twins went to Hogwarts in two years, when keeping them in line would be someone else's impossible burden. Though Ambrose, the oldest of the Weasley-Granger children, was now a first year in Ravenclaw, Hermione was sure (as certain as someone who didn't believe in Divination could be) that the task of managing Ava and Isaac would fall to the Head of Slytherin House. Ron fervently hoped this assessment of the twins' devious, scheming personalities was correct because it would really serve Draco Malfoy right. Hermione sometimes had the impression that this belief in karmic justice in the world was in good part responsible for keeping her husband so blithely cheerful while dealing with their brood on a full-time basis.

She nodded in cordial greeting at the hapless and unsuspecting Professor Malfoy, who was scrutinizing his own portrait. Hermione valiantly stifled a giggle when she noticed that Malfoy's portrait was insulting him: the real Malfoy was glowering and insisting loudly that his hair was highlighted, not grey. If Hermione were a gambling woman, she'd place her bets on the older version of Malfoy whose sneer had the advantage of being honed by some fifteen years of teaching.

Wanting to see if Dean had done such an uncannily spot-on job of capturing the rest of the Order, and knowing her services would predictably be called upon to spend the rest of the afternoon making speeches and delivering sound-bytes to the press, Hermione hurried on to the end of the hall to keep ahead of the reporters.

She became a bit misty-eyed as Dumbledore twinkled down at her, with Fawkes and a large jar of Lemon Sherbets next to him. Hermione was just leaning into the comforting arm Ron slung around her shoulders when a scream rent the air.

Of course, the source of said loud screaming just _had_ to be a child of hers. Hermione peered through her the top of her bifocals, and confirmed that indeed, the ear-piercing howls were attributable to her youngest (though Hermione supposed she'd have to stop thinking like that, absently patting her pregnant midriff, which she vowed did contain the definitive youngest).

Five-year-old Sophonisba had run ahead of them further into the hall but was now tearing back pell-mell and wailing hysterically. She reached her parents and promptly attached herself to Ron's leg like Velcro, but this didn't afford her much comfort as she carried on gabbling into Ron's knees, clearly terrified out of her mind. Hermione thought she could make out something about murder and the portraits killing each other, and began to worry that this might not be a routine case of unprovoked hysteria.

Ron made soothing noises and calmly stroked the shoulder of his daughter, who calmed down enough to gasp a complete sentence in between sobs. "But the bad man was _attacking_ him!"

Hermione looked around at the paintings. Malfoy had moved on to the topic of weight gain but was still busy insulting his admittedly less pointy self. The argument hadn't yet descended to blows or vandalism, so there went the first portrait she'd suspect of bad behaviour. Headmaster Snape's portrait was hung next to Malfoy's, but he was peaceably smirking at his star pupil insulting his successor. Hermione supposed that meant that Snape's portrait hadn't started anything with say, Sirius, whose inclusion in the gallery Hermione had insisted on.

But, wait a minute...Hermione stared across the room. Sirius' portrait was empty, showing a motorbike but nothing else.

Her mind raced. Maybe Sophonisba wasn't overreacting, after all! Was some kind of dark magic afoot? Perhaps evil forces, long suppressed, were making a symbolic stance in a war long over... or maybe the faction that hadn't believed Sirius' innocence had abducted the portrait and was torturing his effigy somewhere? After his name had finally been cleared a few years ago, in Hermione's first act as minister, she'd thought that most people had moved on and let go of the long-standing grudges.

Hermione grabbed her wand from the pocket of her dress robes and strode forward decisively, past the portrait shared by Harry's parents, who were looking extremely amused by something, then past her in-laws, who were looking a bit horrified, but, Hermione reassured herself, not to the point of fearing for their lives.

Hermione rounded a table and collided with a shrieking Isaac and Ava, who, in a show of twinly solidarity, always threw their fits in stereo.

Hermione was momentarily extremely worried, until she noted that their screams were not of terror, and this was in fact a fit of giggling.

"Oh, eww!" Isaac squealed. "That's disgusting! Cooties!"

"But it's two BOYS! They have the SAME cooties!" Ava elbowed him.

"Is still disgusting!" her twin argued authoritatively.

Ava giggled. "Is SO."

Satisfied that it did not appear to be a matter of a death eater insurgency nor a lynch mob, Hermione thought she could investigate herself rather than try to interrogate the twins, which was a challenging proposition at the best of times, since the moment they realized they held exclusive dominion over important information, a complex set of bartering negotiations kicked in.

Peering down the hall, Hermione noticed that one portrait was rather overpopulated, so Sirius' disappearance was perhaps a simple matter of voluntary migration rather than abduction. She relaxed the death grip she'd been holding on her wand.

Striding closer, she noted first that it was Professor Lupin's portrait that Sirius had moved to. Relief flooded Hermione: the old friends would surely want to catch up after such a long separation.

The relief was however short lived, when she noticed that the old friends weren't talking at all, in favour of what appeared to be entirely nonverbal communication. No, thought Hermione, that couldn't be right at all! Professor Lupin really wouldn't be kissing Harry's godfather, would he?

Hermione moved closer, thinking that surely, her eyes had to be deceiving her - maybe the prescription of her spectacles needed updating - but she was only given an eyeful of greater detail for her trouble. Hermione was dumbfounded, but was able to answer her own question quite easily and leaving little doubt: apparently, Professor Lupin WOULD be kissing Harry's godfather, and was, quite enthusiastically.

Portrait Remus was sitting on his overstuffed chair the way the artist had probably intended, but Portrait Sirius was straddling his lap and grinding their hips together in a way that Hermione rather hoped the artist had NOT intended, or else Dean would be getting a howler from her tomorrow.

Hermione watched the scene unfolding before her, dumbstruck, since her brain was busy revisiting old memories in light of new information.

Completely ignoring their audience, either unaware or not caring, Sirius was snogging Remus with single-minded intensity, bracing himself against the bare shoulders of a shirtless Professor Lupin. For his part, Remus was actually tearing Sirius' robes in his haste to remove them and level the playing field. Hermione could hear buttons skittering across the floor, overlaid on the breathy moans and occasional whimper.

As Remus finished divesting Sirius of his robes and latched onto his neck instead, Sirius threw his head back and exclaimed "Oh, fuck!"

Remus stopped biting long enough to growl, "Exactly, Padfoot!"

That highly purposeful statement finally jogged Hermione out of her reverie. Even if the idea that Remus and Sirius had been lovers made a goodly amount of sense, and Hermione was really quite happy to find they hadn't been as lonely as she'd always thought, there was really no need for them to do _that_, in _public_... _especially_ not right now, with press representing the entirety of the wizarding world about to bear down upon them. It was a public relations fiasco waiting to happen!

Fortunately, it was Ron who first arrived on the scene, his progress slightly impeded by Sophonisba still clinging obstinately to his leg. He took in the painting before him for a brief moment, then hooted with delight, "Sirius, you sly old _dog_, you!"

"Oh, _honestly_," Hermione said as she glared at her husband.

Ron snickered in response. "Shrieking Shack, indeed!"

Hermione sighed heavily with the knowledge that restoring decency and order would, once again, be left to her.

"Come now, it's rather adorable, isn't it?" asked Ron, serenely.

Hermione huffed, "There is such a thing as entirely too much realism!"

In the end, Hermione succeeded in persuading Messrs. Black and Lupin into donning their robes again, no thanks to Ron, who had simply giggled furiously, not understanding the gravity of the situation for the future of her re-election campaign. She could _not_ be seen peddling pornography to schoolchildren, even though her own offspring seemed to find the whole thing every bit as hilarious as Ron. Even Sophonisba had laughed once she'd been reassured that Sirius Black was not a vampire, and that although Remus Lupin was a werewolf, it really wasn't that kind of biting.

But not for nothing was Hermione a politician renowned for her great diplomacy and negotiation skills. Professor Lupin and Sirius reluctantly agreed to separate long enough for the opening ceremonies to wind down in exchange for being granted access to the painting in her office at the Ministry, which featured a quaint French beachscape with a small cottage tucked away among the dunes.

Hermione grinned smugly. _She_ was going on maternity leave, but she'd always had her suspicions about her assistant, who'd be taking her place... maybe this was just what dear Percy needed to be jogged from the depths of denial.

* * *

**The End, in which everybody lived happily ever after... even Percy. **

**(Read about Percy's particularly happy ending in the sequel, Plein Air For Two)**


End file.
